We approach the intersection, where a handful of protestors stand on the corner. High schoolers, I’m guessing. A couple twenty-somethings. They hold poster boards declaring atrocities committed by the Lakefront Project. A girl with tiny french braids swirling in intricate designs around her head shouts, “Save our parks,” most of it drowned out by the chaos coming from the stereo.

“Don’t encourage them,” Cullen says flatly.

“Got something against freedom of speech?”

“I got a thing against people bashing my dad. Maybe you can relate.”

One protestor nears our window and shoves the sign at the car. “On with the gala!”

“What gala?”

“A party set up by self-righteous housewives who need an excuse to get dressed up and have their picture taken in the name of ‘park preservation.’” He rattles it off while scrolling through his phone. The car creeps forward, closing in on the bumper of the car in front of us. “You realize they’re bashing the mayor’s efforts to save the city on sidewalks that were repaved with Lakefront Project funding. This city was billions in debt before my dad took over.” Clearly, he’s had this discussion with his father before.

He tosses his phone in the cup holder and flashes me a fake smile. “Good stuff for my girlfriend to know.”

As we inch along, I spot Katie in the back of the protestors, wearing a thick headband and ruffled skirt. She looks empowered as she folds her Save the Parks sign painted in perfect beveled letters and tucks it into her backpack with its trio of buttons. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes ignited. For as quiet as she can be at school, she’s in her element out here, defending a cause she believes in.

I duck, not knowing how she’d react if she saw me in Cullen’s car. I can’t imagine she approves of any interaction I’ve had with the mayor’s son. What would she think if I went along with this horrific idea and pretended to be his girlfriend?

Cullen rolls through the stop sign and slams on the gas, cutting off the car to our left who has the actual right-of-way.

“I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“You have about sixty seconds to make up your mind.” Cullen jerks the wheel, and we vault into the school parking lot, packed with students heading toward the building. We drive past them, toward the front line of parking spaces, which by now should be full. Cullen turns right down an open lane, taking the corner much too fast. The car jolts as he slams on the brakes inches away from a girl with cropped black hair and a cropped green jacket.

My chest bangs against the seat belt again.